Just a Stain

I fell to the floor, my knees buckled and out spilled a crimson liquid. My blood fled towards the drain in a sort of zig zag pattern, As if it was a sign someone was watching out for me, Calling to me, the zig zag pattern wrote Z(oya) repeatedly. But it couldn't have been someone calling out, why would it be? It was just blood on the floor. not a sign, no one reaching out, Because why would they have it stain my shirt? Why would they want that? It just meant I had to wash my polyester, no other meaning. These metaphysical thoughts have always caught me, Why is there no further meaning? there's never a further meaning? I fell and there's blood that needs to be cleaned. nothing more. I need to get up and clean it. Clean it before it dries. Get up and Clean it! Just get up! Get up! It's going to dry! I waited too long. I ruined another shirt for nothing. Something was wrecked for no reason, there is no meaning behind it. I chose to sit and wait, my fault. I ruined it. I stained it. this was an assignment for my ela class